


Mandarin

by lyndysambora



Category: Bon Jovi (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22942159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyndysambora/pseuds/lyndysambora
Summary: He could still feel, under his fingers, the sweaty, naked skin that had ignited him. Even after a shower, he could still feel it under his fingers.
Relationships: Jon Bon Jovi/Richie Sambora
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Mandarin

Richie had broken. 

After the show, during their final bows, he had slung his arm around Jon’s waist, and had touched skin. The hem of the man’s shirt was slightly hiked up on that side, and his pants, sweaty and stretched from having been bounced around the stage for 2-1/2 hours, were slung a little low on his hips. There was a band of damp, bare skin between them that Richie’s hand had accidentally landed on. Right at the angle of Jon’s hip bone. 

And Richie had broken.

As they had turned to walk off the stage, he felt possessiveness open up like the yawning jaws of an awakened monster behind his ribs. He had put his hand on the back of Jon’s neck and squeezed, let his fingertips trail down the man’s spine, like he sometimes did when they were walking together, alone. Only he had done it in front of tens of thousands of onlookers. The jaws of possessiveness had tingled with approval. So had his cock.

_this is mine_

Jon hadn’t seemed to notice the gesture, and Richie was beyond grateful. It had been a stupid move. Richie prided himself on keeping control of his feelings on stage. He did a better job of it most days than Jon did, and that’s the way he wanted to keep it. If Jon wanted to fuck up, that was Jon’s prerogative, but Richie did not make slips. 

He could still feel, under his fingers, the sweaty, naked skin that had ignited him. Even after a shower, he could still feel it under his fingers. He glanced around the room for something else to touch or hold, to create a new sense memory in the skin of his fingertips, and his gaze landed on a fruit basket the hotel had provided. Richie stood and moved across the room to where the basket sat on the sofa table behind the loveseat. In one end of the oval basket sat two gleaming mandarins, their pebbled skin looking exactly like something that might generate a fresh tactile awareness in Richie’s hands. He picked one up. It was cool, the temperature of the room. Richie hadn’t realized how warm his hands were.

He heard the shower water shut off and he put the mandarin back in the basket, arranged it carefully, so it looked like it had never been disturbed. The lingering feel of it was about half canceling the feel of Jon’s hip. That was pretty good, considering. 

Jon emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy bath sheet that started at his waist and reached his ankles. He was rubbing at his hair with another towel. His eyes were partially closing already. 

“You ready to go to sleep?” Richie asked.

A gentle half-smile curled Jon’s lips and he shook his head. He tossed the hair towel on the floor and draped his arms over Richie’s shoulders. “Can we fuck first?” he said.

_this is mine_

“You gonna fall asleep on me again?”

“That was one time!”

“One time is all it took. My dick shrunk three sizes that day. I still haven’t recovered.”

Jon giggled. “I’m not gonna fall asleep on you.” Then he poked out his lower lip. “Please?”

Richie slid his hands down Jon’s back, pulled his palms around his waist, and down over his bare hips, under the towel, dislodging it. It fell in a heap around Jon’s feet and Richie spread his hands over those hip bones.

“Come on,” he murmured against the side of Jon’s head, then breathed in deeply, the scent of shampoo. He thought he could feel the other man’s sigh of relief released against his chest. He led him to the bed by a hand on the back of his neck, squeezing gently, then let his fingertips trail down his spine 

_this is mine_

as Jon crawled over top of the blankets and laid back into the pillows. 

“How do you want it?” Richie asked, pulling his tee shirt off over his head. He pushed his sweat pants down, stomping them off and kicking them aside. 

A flush rose in Jon’s cheeks and he bit the inner edge of his lip. After all this time, he was still embarrassed to ask for it, like he was a deviant for having a healthy human body that needed and wanted things. And every time, Richie made him say it before he got to have it. 

“I want you in me,” Jon whispered, the pink flush in his cheeks deepening almost to maroon.

It was how he said it every time, and Richie never got tired of hearing it. 

“Ah, that’s what I thought. Be right back, babe.”

“Okay.”

Richie’s carry-on was on the loveseat, directly below the fruit basket. He reached into the bag and rooted around for the supplies he needed, but his eyes remained fixed on the two mandarins occupying the basket above. After locating the box and bottle he was after, he plucked the talismanic mandarin, the same one he’d held earlier, from its nesting spot and brought it back to the bed with him. 

“What is that for?” Jon asked, crossing the back of his wrist over his mouth to curb a yawn. 

Richie put the mandarin on the nightstand, twisting it until its best side was visible. “Good luck charm.”

Jon laughed. “What the hell?”

“It’s a long story. You’ll be asleep by the time I start to tell it.”

“Aww, you’re cruisin’, Sambora.”

Sliding in over top of Jon, reveling in the familiar parting of his best friend’s thighs to receive him closer, Richie said, “You couldn’t bruise those apples over there, state you’re in. I’d be quiet if I were you.”

Jon wrapped his arms around Richie’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. The sleepy kisses were the best ones, Richie had decided a long time ago. They were deep and uninhibited like drunk kisses, but Richie liked sober Jon better. Those nights when he got sober Jon to be as uninhibited as drunk Jon, it felt like being king of the universe.

When Richie broke away to kiss the spot under the left earlobe that always made Jon shiver a little, Jon said, “Rich?”

“Mm...”

“You know how much you mean to me, right?”

The white noise of rushing blood filled Richie’s ears. He pulled back just enough to see into Jon’s slow-blinking eyes. “Yeah,” he said. His own voice sounded miles away.

“Good.” The slow blink again.

Richie felt the monster writhe back to life inside his chest. 

He slid a hand behind Jon’s knee and pushed it upward toward his torso, watching it yield to his impulse. “Are you ready for me?” he asked, hearing the shakiness in the words, like they were under the pressure of a held breath. 

Jon inhaled deeply, and smiled. “Yeah.” He laid his arms up over his head, letting them fall against the pillows. His body seemed so vulnerable, stretched out as it was, his bottom ribs straining against the skin. The man was 165 pounds of muscle, and yet he seemed vulnerable in that moment, to Richie. Offering up his body in the docile minutes before sleep, to be used for Richie’s own pleasure, and with the unquestioned assumption that Richie would do right by him-- treat him gently, and return the pleasure fully.

Richie wanted to claim him, again, like he had onstage tonight. Again, still. Always. The realization took the air from his lungs. He was supposed to be the mellow one, the consort and accomplice to Jon’s shinier star. He’d always taken care of Jon in bed, just because that’s the role Richie liked, no matter who his partner was. But this desire to stake his claim was something he’d never noticed before. Or never allowed himself to notice. 

He let go of Jon’s knee and set to putting a condom on. Jon was starting to wiggle a little with impatience, just like he always did. Even exhausted, he was a live wire. Richie glanced at the mandarin on the nightstand and attempted to clear his mind of the encroaching feelings of greed.

After lubing up his hand, he leaned in for another one of those sleepy kisses he adored, and Jon whimpered into this one, the impatience getting the better of him. He was already drawing his knees up. 

“You trust me completely, don’t you?” Richie said, his lips still touching Jon’s.

“Shouldn’t I?”

Richie sought out the tight little opening, and pushed his finger into it. “I don’t know sometimes. Sometimes I want the world to know I’m putting my fingers in your ass, and you like it.”

Jon gasped softly and pushed down against the intrusion. “Sometimes I want that too,” he breathed. “Do another one.”

Richie complied. “I didn’t like it tonight onstage, all those fuckers getting to love you in public and me having to be quiet about it. Something happened in my head.”

“Do another one.”

“I wanted them to know you’re mine.” 

Jon moaned, long and low. “I know. I’m ready now.”

Withdrawing his fingers, Richie positioned his dick and bent down to Jon’s parted lips again. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” Jon said, and Richie drove into him. The restrained little _ah!_ that Jon gave was also predictable. Richie seized the man’s wrists and held them into the pillows as he rolled his hips. Jon’s eyes fluttered closed. “_Fuck...”_

Within seconds, that sweet frown was bending Jon’s mouth, creasing the space between his eyebrows. It was the same as his pain face-- Jon reacted to all sudden inflows of emotion the same way at first. It always took Richie a minute to get the frown to soften into something resembling the pleasure that was creating it. 

He adjusted the angle of his hips, and Jon pulled his knees up higher, lodging his heels against Richie’s ass. Using Richie’s movements to facilitate his own rhythm. The frown started to relent. “Oh god, don’t stop.”

Jon was talking to himself, Richie knew this by now. A way to relax himself into believing Richie would see him through. 

“Oh--”

“Do it.”

“Oh god--”

“Do it.”

“Don’t stop--”

“Do it.”

“Fuck--”

“Come for me.”

Jon dug his heels into Richie’s ass for leverage as he arched his back, his whole body shaking as he came. Richie watched the muscles in Jon’s arms quiver, unable to find relief, stretched out and restrained as they were. He careened into his own climax. 

Pulling out, he helped Jon move his wasted legs out of the way. Then he stripped the condom off and laid down behind the other man, who had already curled up on his side. 

“How do you feel?”

“Mm. Tired.”

“You were tired before.”

“Mm.”

Richie kissed Jon on the shoulder. “Go to sleep, baby.”

“I love you, Rich.”

“I love you, too.”

Slipping his arm around Jon’s stomach, Richie drew the man’s body against his. Jon’s breathing was slowing already. He’d be asleep within the minute. Richie stared at the mandarin on the nightstand, its skin glowing softly in the artificial light. There was no reason for Richie to be possessive, and he knew it. Jon _was_ his, and he expressed it in every way he knew how. 

A deep sigh exuded from Jon’s chest, and Richie felt the man’s hand close over his, loosely, in the last few seconds before sleep took him. 

_this is mine_

Fuck it. Maybe a little greed was good.

**END**


End file.
